Talking, Talking. Spinning A Web Of Words,

As Every Writer Knows... There Is Something Mysterious About The Writer's Ability, On Any Given Day, To Write. When The Juices Are Flowing, Or The Writer Is 'hot', An Invisible Wall Seems To Fall Away, And The Writer Moves Easily And Surely From One Kind Of Reality To Another... Every Writer Has Experienced At Least Moments Of This Strange, Magical State. Reading Student Fiction One Can Spot At Once Where The Power Turns On And Where It Turns Off, Where The Writer Writes From 'inspiration' Or Deep, Flowing Vision, And Where He Had To Struggle Along On Mere Intellect.

There Is No Limit To Desire But Desire's Needs.

...ultimately It Come Down To, Are You Making Or Are You Destroying? If You Try Very Hard To Create Ways Of Living, Create Dreams Of What Is Possible, Then You Win. If You Don't, You May Make A Fortune In Ten Years, But You're Not Going To Be Read In Twenty Years, And That's That.

One Of The Many Interesting Challenges Nature Presents Us Is Its Apparent Disinterest In Maintaining The Order Humans Crave.

I Know Everything, You See,' The Old Voice Wheedled. 'the Beginning, The Present, The End. Everything. You Now, You See The Past And The Present, Like Other Low Creatures: No Higher Faculties Than Memory And Perception. But Dragons, My Boy, Have A Whole Different Kind Of Mind.' He Stretched His Mouth In A Kind Of Smile, No Trace Of Pleasure In It. 'we Are From The Mountaintop: All Time, All Space. We See In One Instant The Passionate Vision And The Blowout.